Sex and the Single Vampire

I made an attempt to stifle the parts of my body that were responding (with much enthusiasm) to the effect of that smooth, beautiful voice, not to mention his bedroom eyes. It wasn't easy, but finally I could look back up to him and speak without grabbing his head and kissing the dickens out of him. "Let's just say it's general curiosity."

His eyes darkened to a deep walnut. "Why do you do that?"

I blinked and tried to summon my innocent face. "Do what?"

"Struggle against the attraction you feel for me. I feel the same and yet I do not struggle; it would be pointless. It is not something one can control—it either is, or it isn't. Yet you deny the passion that beats so strongly within you, I can sense its presence even when I am not near you. Are you so threatened by me that you cannot stand the thought of physical intimacy?"

"I'm not threatened by you," I said in a low whisper, not wanting our conversation to reach the ears of others. "And I'm not passionate."

He laughed a smooth, seductive sort of laugh that felt like velvet touching my skin. "Malý váleèník, you are."

"I am not. I've been told often enough that I lack any sort of connubial warmth to disbelieve you. In fact, the words cold fish were used at one point. And what did you call me?"

He ignored my question. "Was it your ex-husband who told you this?"

I shifted in my seat and wondered how he could know I was struggling with myself not to respond to him. I had a very tight control over my mind; not even Christian's probes had been able to penetrate my guards. "Well… yes, but I know for a fact it's true. I'm neither a virgin nor a prude, Christian. I'm thirty-one years old. I have been with men. I know I'm lacking the passion other women have because I've never particularly enjoyed sexual acts, and from the dissatisfied looks on my partners' faces, the feeling was obviously mutual. So you needn't bother trying to seduce me in order to gain a little solace. You won't find it in my arms."

"No? Let us test that theory, shall we?" He held out his hand for me. "Come here."

I stared at his hand like it was made up of boiled spiders. "What?"

"Come here. Sit next to me."

I looked around us. Although we were in a rather secluded spot in the restaurant, our table was clearly visible to at least a half dozen people. "No! People will see us!"

One sable eyebrow rose. "Does that thought arouse you?"

I frowned down my nose at him. "Not in the least."

He sighed. "I can see I will have much to teach you. Come here, Allegra. Sit next to me. Prove to me that you are a cold fish."

"I am not going to fall for such a weak example of reverse psychology," I told him with an annoyed roll of my eyes.

"Ah, so you are too afraid of me to prove what you say?"

"I'm not afraid of you," I answered. "I don't have to prove anything."

He made an elegant gesture that spoke volumes—volumes about him proving his point, and me being too chicken to correct him.

"All right," I snarled, standing up as I threw down my napkin. I walked over to his side of the table and plopped myself down in his lap, ignoring at least five pairs of eyes that I could feel on my back. "You want me to prove that I'm passionless, I'll prove to you that I'm passionless. Be prepared to be bored to tears."

I clamped my hands onto his shoulders, mashing my mouth up against his, purposely grinding my lips hard against his teeth. He tolerated that for a moment, then gently cupped either side of my jaw and tipped my head back at a different angle. "We will try this again, but without the show of brute strength, yes?"

I looked into his eyes and knew I was in trouble, serious, deep, fathomless trouble. His eyes were dark wells of desire—a desire for me, something I'd never seen in a man's eyes. I felt myself falling into them as his lips teased mine, feathering soft little kisses along the length of my mouth, tantalizing me until I could no longer deny the truth.

I wanted him to touch me. I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted to taste him again, to have him taste me. I fought a desperate fight to maintain control over my desire, but the first stroke of his tongue against my lips tolled a death knell for my good intentions. My lips softened on his. I allowed him to surge into my mouth, and with that intimate touch the last of my barriers were destroyed. I moaned into his mouth as his tongue become more aggressive, stroking mine, demanding, not asking for response. I slid my hands into his hair, pulling the leather thong that bound it free so that his hair hung loose to his shoulders. The satiny length of it poured over my fingers like cool water, making me shiver in response.